Draw me like one of your french girls
by Nianai Bell Nezumi
Summary: AU. While Gokudera may not be in the profession he always imagined, living in the place he always imagined or even if his housekeeper isn't what he imagined; things generally work out for the best. "I guess you could call me an illustrator. Kind of." "Well, have I ever read any of your works?" "Probably not." (warnings inside)


For the sixth day in a row, Gokudera was awoken not by his alarm.

No, this Saturday morning, at 7:55 am, he was awoken by three prompt knocks on his door.

Sighing agitatedly he refused to open his eyes. Instead of moving towards his door, the smoker chose to burrow deeper into the warmth of his bed. Anything was better than what awaited him behind his front door.

But just as it had been the last five days an annoyingly happy whistle accompanied the knocking. The whistling was almost worse because that meant the idiot was in a good mood despite the fact it wasn't even 8 am on a Saturday. Flipping over onto his back Gokudera cursed loudly at his luck. He had stayed up half the night trying to finish one scene in his book and still wasn't satisfied with the end results when he had laid down his pen. Neither was his editor.

With great effort Gokudera pushed himself off his bed, pulled on his drawstring pajama pants and padded toward the foyer, where that ridiculous whistling still continued.

Putting on his most menacing morning face, Gokudera flung open the door and growled. "Why the fuck can't you be quieter at 8 in the morning moron?"

The face that greeted him wasn't terrified by the words or expression of the silverette. Instead the other man cocked his head sideways and good naturedly apologized.

"Sorry, Gokudera-san. I'm just a morning person I guess."

Unsatisfied with the answer Gokudera clicked his teeth at the man and reached for his pack of cigarettes on the side table, walking away before any conversations could be started. "Whatever. I'm gonna smoke." And with that Gokudera stalked over to his small balcony and ignored the idiot in his house.

Yamamoto closed the door softly behind him, smiling at the bristly man. No one had told him how interesting his employer was.

Three months ago, Yamamoto's father had stepped aside in running the family business; a little housekeeping thing. And being the only son, Yamamoto had no problem taking the reins of the job. The night of his retirement party Yamamoto's father had pulled his son aside and informed him of a recent addition to their client list; a Gokudera Hayato had signed up for a cleaner every day. With an odd look in his eye that Yamamoto still hadn't quite figured out he had whispered to his son, "Be careful with that one Takeshi. He's a _real_ firecracker." Yamamoto had laughed at the comment, quickly writing it off as an old man's caution.

Until a week ago their only other employee, one Sawada Tsunayoshi, had been taking care of the place. That was until his wife went into labor and Tsuna asked for time off to be with his family. Again Tsuna warned his boss about the firecracker that was Gokudera. And again Yamamoto had brushed off the heed.

"Hey baka, get your shit together and get to work. I ain't paying you to stare into space."

Picking up the tune he had been whistling earlier, Yamamoto smiled at the deep frown on his employer's face which earned him a roll of tourmaline eyes.

Three hours later the last load of laundry had been put into the dryer, the house had been swept and lunch was on the stove. Looking around at the house Yamamoto thought his father would appreciate the job obviously well done here. Everything looked in place and clean, just the way Gokudera had off-handedly mentioned he liked it on the first day. Speaking of Gokudera…

Yamamoto glanced to his left and saw that the smoker hadn't moved from his place at the table. Actually nothing had really moved since he had sat down with his laptop almost two hours ago. His cup of coffee (black with no milk or sugar, Yamamoto had learned) sat atop a stack of folders, stuffed thickly with papers. His little laptop was pushed far enough on the table that Gokudera could lean his upper body onto the table and still have room to look at the screen over thick black frames.

He hadn't realized he was staring until hard green eyes caught his gaze and a harsh, "What are you staring at?" held his attention.

"I was just thinking, sorry Gokudera-san."

Another frown, but this time the smaller male remained silent and his eyes flickered uninterestedly back to his laptop screen.

Curious about what he could be so intense on, Yamamoto walked over to the small table, a soft scraping sound as he pulled a chair over the recently swept floor.

A surprised exclamation of "The hell do you think you're doing?" went unnoticed as Yamamoto gave his employer an once-over. His pajama pants were threadbare and had a hole on the left leg, no socks, and his silver hair was pulled into a ponytail. With a soft chuckle Yamamoto thought, well at least he put on a shirt.

"Seriously, what do you think you're doing? Don't you have laundry to fold or something?"

"Food's on the stove and laundry's in the dryer for a while Gokudera-san." He moved so he sat a little more comfortably. "And besides I thought it would be nice if we could talk. We've been together for almost a week and I don't know anything about you. I don't even know what you do for a living."

Gokudera stared at him like he had spoken in French, before he shook his head, mumbled something about how he wouldn't want to know, and picked up his coffee mug.

As the male sipped, Yamamoto noticed the sketchbook in his lap for the first time and intrigued he asked, "Are you an artist Gokudera-san?"

"Why would you ask that?" he scowled unhappily before looking disappointingly at the empty mug.

"Well," Yamamoto leaned so his hand held up his chin and a bright smile covered his face. "Your sketchbook is a good hint. Also I keep finding folded up scraps of doodles in your pant pockets when I wash them. But they're usually scribbled out so I can't tell what you drew." Yamamoto finished with smirk.

Gokudera's face went beet red but he held his poker face stubbornly. "That's some pretty good observations coming from the moron who almost set my kitchen on fire yesterday."

Yamamoto recognized the jab as an attempt to turn the conversation so he shrugged his shoulders, brushing off the comment before haughtily pinning Gokudera with his eyes.

"So, Gokudera-san. May I see some of your work? I promise to not say anything if you're shy."

"Tough luck kid. Not going to happen." Gokudera quickly jerked his eyes closed, turning his face away from the happy idiot across from him. Yamamoto sat up slight, a teasing tilt on his mouth. "Oh c'mon Gokudera-san. I'm just curious about my employer."

Sweeping his laptop into his arms, the lean male walked away from the table.

"I'll be working in my study for the rest of the day. If you need anything; don't ask."

Yamamoto laughed heartily as he heard the office door shut loudly and wondered why he thought he wanted to see a red faced Gokudera again.

* * *

"If you're not an artist, then you're an illustrator." Yamamoto declared three days later. "Like for a children's book or something."

Dropping his pencil, Gokudera turned towards the curious stare behind him. "I thought we were done with this conversation Yamamoto!"

The housekeeper removed the bandana covering his mass of black hair and tossed it like a baseball onto the table by Gokudera's feet. He stepped over to the plush couch where the other already sat, sketch book in hand. He made no attempt to look at Gokudera's drawings, especially since the other seemed so fidgety already. Yamamoto tried his best not to smile, really he did, but when he fell beside Gokudera there was definitely a toothy smile in place.

"You called me Yamamoto." He said innocently.

Gokudera paused before gruffly shifting down into the seat. "Yeah, so what of it?"

"In the nine days I've been working here, you've only called me 'moron', 'idiot', 'kid' or something involving a cuss word. It's just nice to hear it, that's all." Shrugging Yamamoto tossed his hands behind his head. "You never did answer my question."

"My answer is that it's none of your damn business what I do."

"Alright, I just thought I'd ask."

They fell into a brief silence, where Yamamoto simply listened to the ticking of the clock and Gokudera shifted in his seat. Gokudera listened to the breathing of his companion, the loud yap of Mukuro's Chihuahua next door, and an increasingly bothersome tick-tick-toc of the clock. Yamamoto seemed unaffected by the quiet which pissed Gokudera off even more.

When the ticking on the clock became too much for Gokudera, he irritably gripped his hair in his fist and looked out the giant window to his right.

"I guess you could call me an illustrator. Kinda."

A kind lift of his lips remained hidden from Gokudera as Yamamoto stretched out to lounge on the couch beside his boss. "Oh, is that so?"

Yamamoto heard a deep exhale come from the silver haired male as the male's shoulders dropped. His eyes quickly found a spot on the ceiling to look at when Gokudera began to turn around.

"That's all you've got to say moron?"

A head tilt and a raised brow. "What else would you like me to say Gokudera-san?"

"You've been pestering me about this for almost a week and all you can say is 'oh'. You really are simple minded."

Even with the harsh words from Gokudera, Yamamoto noticed the blush coating his ears and how he began to fiddle with his pencil. His boss was so cute.

"Okay, then have I ever read anything you've done?" He asked warmly. His reply was an unmanly snort.

"Probably not." Gokudera leaned forward, his hair falling prettily across his cheek bones.

Unperturbed, Yamamoto glanced back up to the ceiling. "I don't see you doing children's books. Too foul a mouth for that." He tapped a tan finger to his lips. "Manga then. Like those super popular action ones?"

Yamamoto could totally see it; a Gokudera roused from sleep because he had dreamt up the big climatic fight sequence for some macho action manga. He'd excitedly sketch out muscular men throwing punches at one another with bombs exploding in the background. Yamamoto would bet good money that Gokudera's drawings were awesome. With a bit of amazement, the housekeeper let out a soft 'wow' at the thought.

Gokudera looked back at the daydreaming man, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "I don't even want to know what you're imaging."

A hopeful look from the Japanese male.

"So, am I right Gokudera-san?"

The green eyes caught amber ones, a cocky look in them. "Not quite."

"Hah? Wait, if you don't do action that leaves chick stuff."

Gokudera rolled his eyes as he gathered up his sketchbook.

"You're an idiot." Was all he said as he tossed the bandana back into the stunned face of Yamamoto. The same Yamamoto who was currently trying to blend the image of his macho-man drawing Gokudera with the flowery girl romance drawing Gokudera. It wasn't exactly pleasant or really even that feasible.

He turned awkwardly on the couch to watch the slim male walk towards the kitchen. "Hey, Gokudera-san-" but he was quickly cut off by a frown on the pale face.

"Enough with the questions. I'm done with this game, if you can figure it out good for you. But if not, leave all your damn questions at the door from now on."

Yamamoto sat there in silence, now even more curious as what his employer was hiding.

* * *

Over the course of the next two weeks, Yamamoto and Gokudera developed an odd semi-functional relationship. Yamamoto was a constant presence that Gokudera was learning tolerate being around him all the time. Even if he was an idiot. He at least seemed to be an idiot who took the hint he wasn't going to find out about his boss's job.

Once that fact had been establish, Yamamoto had just been a goofy counterpoint of his day and soon enough Gokudera found that he didn't mind sketching outside of his office. As long as Yamamoto seemed mostly preoccupied.

Although the two males seemed to be getting along well enough, Gokudera was getting increasingly more and more irritable. Already infamous for his terrible people skills, vulgar mouth and smoking habits, he at least had moments of being a normal guy. But now the silverette seemed to snap at the smallest matters. A bird chripping by his window, the house smelling of lavender, the lights being too bright. A slender hand was always raking through his locks and the once occasional scowl was now regularly etched onto his lips.

And what caused this mood change in Gokudera?

Well, after a successful launch of his newest manga project, his editors wanted more. More illustrations, more designs, more characters and more partners. Even as creative as Gokudera was he still preferred to be the artist rather than the writer. As such his partner would write the plot, dialogue and characters and Gokudera would draw everything out.

The next logical question was of course, just what kind of manga did Gokudera Hayato do? Was Yamamoto right in his assumption of the smoker being a girly shoujo illustrator right? Sorta.

Gokudera Hayato drew men. Men that thoroughly enjoyed having sex. With other men. Yep, he was a yaoi mangaka. And he was a damn good one too! He was also currently out of ideas. At least he was until after the latest release. Now everything he drew lacked imagination and the feeling that his characters were relatable. His editors weren't helping either with their constant nagging about how they knew he could do better; if he only tried a little harder. Bullshit. Gokudera had been working his ass off for the past two weeks and it had gotten him nowhere.

And then Yamamoto had come along and been a distraction (a surprisingly pleasant one) and Gokudera found most of his sketches involved slightly altered versions of the housekeeper. Some drawings had the same black spiky hair, some took a good guess at his body type (Yamamoto had only removed his shirt twice when he'd spilled sauce on it), but most featured his ridiculous smile and eyes.

Gokudera sat on his couch, absently flipping through his most recent sketchpad, each page filled with little Yamamotos. One hand supported his cheek, pushing his glasses slightly up his nose while his socked feet fiddled with the edge of a deep blue blanket. The blanket had been a gift from the idiot himself. He had simply paused by the door one day and tossed the thing easily into Gokudera's hands. When Gokudera tried to retort something back Yamamoto simply laughed, ruffled the silver strands of hair and said, "I just noticed you always walk around in a ridiculous lack of clothes. Keep warm, won't you Gokudera-san?"

With absolutely no reason that he could see Gokudera's face had erupted in heat after that. Yamamoto didn't seem to notice and left. Even as he sat on his couch days later, Gokudera still flushed at the memory.

Luckily Yamamoto's shift had ended fifteen minutes ago which left Gokudera to puzzle over his odd behavior. As he flipped through more pages he realized he had drawn far too many sketches of the housekeeper, and most of them would make him blush if he ever saw them. One page in particular made Gokudera's fingers pause.

Thumbing the page back so he could see it more clearly, green eyes traced the outline of the main character of his most recent publication as he was topped by a familiar male. He remembered sketching this one out a few days ago while Yamamoto had been doing laundry by him. The taller male had spent most of the time making lame jokes which had Gokudera rolling his eyes at. The rest of the time Gokudera had flipped through the channels until Yamamoto had spoken up, "Oh man, I forgot the game was on today." He had pleading eyes when he had turned to Gokudera. "Can we watch it Gokudera-san?" With a grumble of complaint Gokudera had left the station on and listened to the commentary of a baseball game from Yamamoto as he folded laundry.

"What is going on with me?" Gokudera asked himself, confused by the entire situation. He really should be trying to figure out how to get his muse back instead of thinking about an employee.

Deciding to clear his mind, Gokudera pushed himself off the couch and he walked towards his balcony for a quick smoke. He dropped his sketchbook absently onto the table, failing to notice that the very drawing he'd been looking at had fallen out of the book and to the floor.

And as cruel fate would have it, the subject matter of said drawing had forgotten his house keys on the kitchen table in Gokudera's flat. Which is why as Gokudera stood outside smoking he couldn't hear the knocking on his front door.

* * *

His greetings going unanswered, Yamamoto figured Gokudera had fallen asleep on his couch again, and without much prompting he let himself in with his spare key.

Yamamoto tip-toed into the small home, careful to not disturb the owner. He was curious though if his assumption had been right. Wandering over to the couch, Yamamoto peeked over the top to find the seat empty. Which meant…

Turning to the balcony, Yamamoto confirmed his suspicion when he spotted a familiar back leaning on the outside railing. Unconsciously Yamamoto mimicked the other male's pose as he watched Gokudera flick his cigarette ash off absently. Gokudera stood there in the fresh air, completely at ease.

Knowing he really shouldn't be staring at his boss like this, Yamamoto guiltily laughed to himself. He had been watching the Italian like this since the second week he'd been here. Where was the harm in still looking? S look he did. It was a compliment to Gokudera. The Italian had left his hair down today, the breeze outside flicking the loose strands against a pale neck. Brown eyes traced over the contours of the lean back that trailed into slim hips and a firm butt, all covered by a thin black tee and cotton pajama pants. With a slight reddening of his cheeks he paused at Gokudera's backside for a moment too long. An image that he had looked at far too often.

He tried to think why he was so drawn to the male on the other side of the glass. As far as he knew, Yamamoto had never been attracted to men. Women were nice and soft. Women didn't have the sharp edges that defined Gokudera. Yamamoto had some experience in the whole love/sex department but that didn't explain why he enjoyed watching the hard lines and roughness that was Gokudera. But whenever he walked into the house every morning and a groggy Gokudera would greet him, he would feel a pleasant warmth blossom in the pit of his stomach. The good kind of heat, not the right before you get sick one. Either way, he knew he was attracted to the other male. And he was at a complete loss as what to do about it.

With one final look at his employer, Yamamoto decided it was time to leave. As he turned to leave he heard a crushing sound from underneath his shoe. Curiously he bent down to see what he had stepped on. Pulling the paper off the floor he realized he finally had one of Gokudera's drawings in his hands. What a lucky day for Yamamoto Takeshi.

On closer inspection though Yamamoto realized what exactly he was looking at. Was that-?

"What's that in your hand?"

Gokudera's rough voice, even more so from his recent cigarette, broke Yamamoto's concentration on the drawing, which fell to the floor. With a smile close to his usual brilliance he greeted the nervous look on Gokudera's face.

"Gokudera. Hey."

* * *

A/N: ehhhhhh! I'm back. And ready to write. So heads up none of my fics are abandonded, I've just had a lot going on, so I hope you guys don't mind this little ditty of a distraction while I try to reoriente myself to the ff world.

Warnings: Gokudera's mouth, Yamamoto's not so innocent intentions, Gokudera is a yaoi mangaka, and the fact this is a 2 part fic! so part 2 in a few!


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